


Fight For Me

by Singing_Violin



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singing_Violin/pseuds/Singing_Violin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One last reunion. A request, denied. Another granted. Love. Peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight For Me

**Author's Note:**

> The Buffyverse and characters therein are not mine. Just borrowing.

They gather outside her room and speak in hushed tones.

"It's time," one says, and the others nod in agreement.

"I'll get him," says another, solemnly.

"Did she say...?" asks another.

"No, but...," is the firm if incomplete reply.

She has faced countless demons, monsters, and other forces of evil. She has averted several apocalpyses. But ultimately no force, no magic, no fight can stop the cancer growing inside of her. They've tried it all, and it's only made her weak and pale. The irony is not lost upon her: she can only been defeated by her own body.

He is not hard to find. No words are necessary: the look on the young girl's face is enough.

"Where is she?" he asks urgently.

"Come," says the girl, and he follows immediately.

He is at the threshold of her room, and he takes a moment just to observe what he can see through the doorway.

She's always been small and thin, but now she is practically skeletal: deathly pale, her translucent skin shrunken around her eye sockets. Her hair, once a vibrant yellow-blonde, is now grey, and limply falls around her face onto her pillow.

And yet, he realizes, she is still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He notices then that she's looking at him, her gaze firm, as if she believes that averting her eyes will cause him to disappear. He of course, looks exactly the same as when she last saw him: tall, dark-haired but fair-skinned, handsome, and with a profound sadness in his eyes.

"May I come in?" he requests, his voice nearly shaking in anticipation of the reply.

"Yes," she whispers, "but you didn't need to ask."

He steps through the doorway and is at her side in an instant, his unblinking eyes fixed upon hers. "I know. I was being polite. I wanted to make sure you were okay with my being here."

At that, she smiles weakly. "I'm glad you came. It's been what...two decades? Three?"

"Twenty-eight years, four months, three...too long." He takes her hand and holds it gently, and she squeezes his hand slightly, her wasted muscles still surprisingly strong. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," she answers honestly.

Suddenly he is desperate. "You don't have to do this," he says.

"Do what?" she asks innocently, though she is afraid she knows what he is about to say.

"Die," he answers, then corrects himself quickly. "I mean, you don't have to leave. I could turn you. Willow's family could perform the curse, so you could have your soul, just like me."

"I'm a little old for that nightwalker stuff," she points out wryly. "Have you ever noticed that you're all young and pretty, at least on the surface? Why doesn't anyone ever turn a senior citizen?"

"There's always a first time," he says. "And besides, you're not that old to be reborn. I've seen older."

She shakes her head. "I'm not interested."

"Why?" he asks desperately. "Why?"

She regards him sternly and attempts to sit up. He reaches around her back and helps her, plumping her pillow behind her. "You know why."

"I don't," he responds. "I really don't."

She sighs with frustration. "Assuming it even works, which it might not...we still couldn't be together. No happiness, remember? We'd both turn evil in a second."

"We could fight together," he insists. "Side by side. We always made a great team."

"Except for the not being able to be in the same room together bit," she replies bitterly. "Resisting temptation."

"We're older, now. Wiser. Please, give it a shot."

"No. I'm sorry, Angel, but..." The moment his name escapes her lips, she falters, but recovers quickly. "No."

He thinks for a moment, then grabs something out of his pocket and hands it to her. "Then slay one more demon, for old time's sake," he begs. "Dust me."

Her eyes grow wide. "Are you so afraid to watch me die that you'd have me kill you first?"

"Yes," he answers unwaveringly. "I don't want to live in a world without you."

She throws the stake aside, and it clatters to the floor at his feet. "You have to. We're still fighting the forces of evil, and you're still an exemplary soldier, from what I hear. My life or death shouldn't stop you."

"I've been fighting for you," he admits. "Ever since I met you. If you're gone..."

"Your purpose remains the same," she interrupts. "You have a score sheet, remember? Centuries of evil to be atoned for. You've hurt so many people...even me," and those last two words are more painful than the stake would have been. "You have to live, to keep fighting. It's your destiny, especially now."

Now tears are running down his face, and she ponders briefly why he cannot breathe, but he can cry. "Why...why can't you fight with me?" he asks again.

She sighs. "I have nothing to atone for. And I've been fighting nearly my whole life. I'm tired, Angel. I want to rest. I'm done."

"But there are so many things you've never gotten to do!" he points out. "You didn't even get married, have a family."

"It was a little hard when my boyfriends kept getting killed," she replied. "And also, I couldn't love anyone completely, not the way they deserved. A part of me always belonged to you. And I've lived a good life, Angel." She squeezed his hand once more for emphasis. "I've done what I was destined to do. It's time for the others to take over. And you can help them."

He shakes his head, sobbing slightly. "Please don't go."

"I have to," she says calmly. "You know I do."

He wipes at his eyes. "Damnit."

"Hey," she scolds. "I need you to be strong. Please," and now a tear runs down her cheek. "I don't have much time left, and..." Her voice trails off, but he knows what she is trying to say.

He steels himself, takes a faux deep breath as he helps her to lie down once more, then tucks the sheets around her. "Are you afraid?"

"Not anymore," she replies, turning her head to the side and attempting unsuccessfully to smile at him. "I haven't been afraid of death since I was sixteen. I was always afraid of dying alone. But you're here now."

He nods. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me," she begs, "promise me you'll keep up the good fight. Help them. They need you. All of them."

He nods again. "Okay." He knows now that he will do whatever she asks.

"Thank you," she answers, then closes her eyes, and within minutes, she is gone.

His tears flow freely now, dampening the sheets covering her still-warm body. He's mourned for her before, but he knows, now, that this is different.

As he lays his head upon her still chest, he hears her voice one last time, emanating from another world: youthful, now, much purer than the rasp with which she had spoken her last words in the world in which he remains. "I've always loved you."

It is all he can do to whisper her name. "Buffy."

It is no time at all, and it is an eternity before they reenter the room.

He sees their somber faces and looks to each one in turn. "Thank you," he says. And then, "I imagine there's a lot of work to do. How can I help?"


End file.
